The Truth in the Chaos
by WildFlower084
Summary: Seeley Booth's only desire is to prove his girlfriend's innocence despite all the evidence piling up against her. But a series of mysterious events will divert him from his mission. But what happens when evidence start pointing, once again, to his beloved forensic anthropologist? - Consider this an alternate season 8
1. Prologue

**SPOILER ALERT: Spoilers for the season 7 finale "The Past in the Present". Set the night after Bones ran off with Christine. That's all I will say about this story ;)**

* * *

He watched. In fact, he had been watching for a while. The sun had slowly set until his living room had turned completely dark. There had been no movement, no noise. That is, until the door had finally opened.

He hadn't expected things to unravel that way. After the all, the man who walked in his home was alone. Intrigued, he leaned in closer.

Slowly, zombie-like, the newcomer had made his way to every room in his house, only stopping to rearrange a cushion or to pour himself a glass of water. His gaze would linger on some objects, most of them uninteresting, like a plate in the sink or a plant in the corner of the room. His eyes were unfocused, like his thoughts were miles away from his body. The light stagger in his footsteps told him the man had been drinking. The thought of the man suffering brought a warm feeling inside of him. A smile twitched at his lips.

He couldn't help but wonder… Where was the woman? Where was the brilliant forensic anthropologist who thought she could beat him at his own game? Why was it that the federal agent had come home alone?

As Booth moved through his house, Pellant typed in some codes and the images on his laptop changed. How he missed the sound of his fingers typing away on a keyboard! As soon as the parole board had granted his freedom, he had fled straight to his provider and had purchased a new laptop. He hadn't picked the best on the market; after all, if the cops were to seize his equipment once again – he scoffed at the thought - , he hadn't wanted to spend all of his money only to lose the machine later.

He watched the federal agent slowly make his way up the stairs. He paused at the top, staring down the hallway on his right. A smile stretched across Pelant's lips: the girl's bedroom.

Getting to his feet, he stretched. He had been staring at the screen for hours, waiting for the family to come home. His limbs felt stiff, yet he felt great. Even after a few days, he could still feel the lightness of his left ankle. Finally, after all those months, thanks to the not-so-brilliant-FBI-agent, who had been duped by a phoney phone call, he was free to do as he pleased. And, what pleased him was to see _them_ suffer.

Booth finally moved from his rooted-spot at the top of the stairs and slowly made his way down the hallway that would lead to his daughter's bedroom. As he flicked on the lights, the pinkish room came into view. Pelant stood still, watching intently, as though waiting for something, when it happened. As though his knees had given out, the tall man fell to the ground. His hands were hiding his face, but the movement of his shoulders gave away his sobs.

Satisfied, Pelant relished in the chaos he had caused. The man's tears were his reward… for now. There was still much more to be done. They had a plan. Soon, that whole crew would know the truth Pelant had known all these years. This time, it was impossible for them to win.

They would get what they deserved. They had finally met their match.


	2. Chapter 1

Unsure exactly what pulled him from his sleep, Booth opened his eyes and looked over at his alarm clock. The green digits glowed 5:55. Groaning, he stretched and turned over on his left side. Hoping to fall back asleep, he closed his eyes and let his mind wander, yet again, to his family. As always, he wondered where they were and what they were doing. No matter where Bones had taken Christine, Booth knew she would keep their daughter safe, yet he couldn't help but question how she had managed to hide all those weeks without being caught. After all, she was known throughout the country, both as a writer and a forensic anthropologist. No matter how she had decided to hide, he just hoped that she hadn't turned to plastic surgery, much like Max had done himself. Bones needed to be Bones when she came back; he wouldn't be able to live with her decision had she chosen the surgery.

Several minutes passed and, when sleep clearly turned out not to be an option, Booth dragged himself out of bed and made his way to the adjacent bathroom.

As he turned on the shower, the deep quietness of the house now filled with the sound of pouring water, Booth slowly undressed. In the mirror, he could see the dark circles which had formed under his eyes over the past month. He definitely didn't look good. Yet, as he stepped into the steaming shower, his heart felt somewhat lighter. He felt as though a weight, though small, had been lifted off his shoulders. Suddenly, he realized he had slept through the entire night without being startled awake by nightmares of Bones getting arrested or his family being murdered. For the first time in weeks, he felt happier.

He wasn't sure how long he had spent under the running water, letting the last of his worries wash away, but, as he pushed the glass door and stepped out of the shower, the mirror had completely fogged and the bathroom was filled with a thick and humid mist. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he made his way back to his bedroom.

He quickly dressed before heading to the kitchen. On his way out, he glanced up at the baby monitor taped to the wall. He still hadn't taken any of them down. Doing so at the time had seemed completely useless. After all, he would need to put them back when Bones would come back with their daughter. There had been a time when he had thought that her love for him and their daughter would have been enough to drive her right back into his arms. Yet now, as the reality of his situation had finally sunk in, he knew he should take them down. Bones definitely wasn't coming back any time soon and it was better that way.

He would be early at work once again. Since his family's disappearance, he had been the first to enter the Bureau in the morning and almost the last one to leave in the evening. Today would be no different. Booth quickly washed the dishes used for breakfast and put them away. At the door he grabbed his jacket and stopped at a picture of Christine where, barely three months old at the time it was taken, she smiled back at him. He looked into her blue eyes and felt his love for her overwhelm his heart, mixed with a soft pang of sadness. Somewhere, his baby was growing; she had even turned six months old the previous day. He just hoped that wherever she was, she was still the happy baby he'd had christened a few weeks earlier.

With a soft sigh, he tore his gaze from the picture. It broke his heart to think that she would probably have no recollection of him the next time he would see her. He just hoped the rest of his life would be enough to fix their bond.

* * *

The building was quiet as Booth stepped out of the elevator and made his way to his office, the quietness only broken by the low hum of running computers. None of the agents had arrived, but Booth preferred it that way. It meant he didn't have to ignore the whispers and the stares as he walked through the corridors of the building, nor did he have to react to the unfounded accusations that he had helped his partner escape. No one fully understood why Brennan had taken off; in their eyes, it made her look guiltier. For that, though, Booth couldn't blame them.

Just like he had done every morning since he had come back to work three weeks earlier, Booth took a seat at his desk and turned on his computer. Each time, he had checked his emails, hoping to see a message from his girlfriend telling him they were fine and would come home soon. Much like every other mornings, there were no new messages in his inbox. Booth closed the window.

As he turned, he was startled to find Caroline standing in his doorway, looking at him expectantly.

"You're here early," Booth said.

"So are you."

"Yeah well, I enjoy the silence."

Caroline nodded, unsure what else to say. Their working relationship had been strained since the Pelant-Brennan case had taken a turn for the worse. She didn't blame the agent for being mad at her since she had been the one who had granted the search and the arrest warrants for the forensic anthropologist.

"I've got some good news and some bad news."

"Great! Just what I need, more bad news!" Booth replied, sarcastically. "What is it?"

"The bad news is that the FBI has decided to maintain the nationwide search for Dr. Brennan. They are still completely sure that she is guilty of Sawyer's murder. Her little escape didn't help in restoring her reputation."

Booth felt his jaw clench.

"What's the good news?" he asked, ignoring her last comment.

"The codes found by Ms. Montenegro in the library books are putting a new spin on the Pelant case. The Bureau has assigned an agent to the case in order to find out why, and _if¸_ Pelant put them there. If it does turn out that he is guilty, he will be arrested."

Booth couldn't quite see how this was good news. He knew Pelant would be in a lot of trouble for breaking the court order stating that he wasn't allowed to do any kind of hacking. Yet, that would only mean he would be in prison for a couple of years or that he would go back to house-arrest. The murders would still be unsolved, Bones would still be considered the prime suspect in Sawyer's murder, and, once Pelant would be free again, the killings would most likely resume.

"Of course he's guilty, Caroline."

"That's what you believe, chéri, but there could be alternate explanations."

When Booth didn't reply but simply looked away, Caroline added:

"Listen, I know you want me to believe that your partner is innocent, but running away has made her look guilty as hell. I work for the prosecution, not the defence. In my eyes, she's guilty, especially when the evidence points to her."

"Pelant is _framing_ her, Caroline. I know that and you know that."

Caroline sighed.

"I'm really sorry for what's happening to you, Seeley. I shouldn't even be here telling you this information since you've been kicked off the investigation and Flynn seems determined to suspend anyone who tries to help Dr. Brennan. You should consider yourself lucky that Dr. Saroyan can still work the case. Otherwise, your partner wouldn't even stand a chance. Flynn has got the FBI wrapped around his little finger."

Again, Booth felt his anger flare towards the man he had worked with for years prior to the Pelant-turned-Brennan case. Flynn's attitude after being put in charge of the case angered him. He had done everything in his power, including suspending professionals from the case, to accuse Brennan of the crime without even considering other alternatives. Though Booth knew he'd had the right to make all those decisions, he wondered why he had. The Jeffersonian team knew the Pelant case by heart; their help would have made his work a lot easier. Why was Flynn so focused on proving Bones was guilty?

"Thank you, Caroline. I really appreciate it."

Nodding curtly, Caroline walked out of the office.

Booth turned to his computer and paused. Flynn had been working at the Bureau for over five years and never once had Booth had any kind of trouble with him. What had happened? Why was Flynn so focused on working the case alone? Was he hiding something?

Getting to his feet, Booth walked over to the door and peered outside. When nobody was in sight, he closed the door behind him and sat back down at his desk. Double-clicking on an icon, he waited patiently for the program to launch.

Glancing once more outside his office window, he quickly typed a name in the search bar and a file popped up.

Flynn smiled back at him.


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you to everyone to has put this story on alert and has reviewed so far. Keep on reading, I promise it gets better! ;)**

* * *

Noises could be heard from the kitchen, telling Hodgins his wife was already up. Quietly, he made his way to the room and stopped. Leaning against the door, he watched her prepare their son's first meal of the day. Michael was sitting in his high chair, busy playing with blocks Angela had given him.

From where he stood, his wife couldn't see him. When she turned, he noticed her worn expression which told him she probably hadn't slept the previous night, much like every other nights. Since her best friend's disappearance, she had spent almost every waking hour trying to prove her friend's innocence. She had worked the program downloaded into the library books for days, until she had turned her attention back to the different symbols found at the different crime scenes. Despite her determination, she had solved neither.

Stepping into the kitchen, he quickly kissed his son on the head before walking towards his wife.

"Hey…" he said, softly, as he wrapped his arms around her from behind. "How come you didn't come to bed last night?"

"I was trying to figure out those stupid codes," Angela replied, slightly aggressive.

Pulling away from her husband, she walked over to her son's high chair, leaving a stunned husband behind her. A bowl in one hand, she pulled a chair up to her child with her free one and set the breakfast in front of him. Michael immediately grabbed his spoon and dipped it into his cereal.

"You were up _all night_?" Hodgins replied, exasperated. "Please tell me you at least got a _little_ sleep?"

Angela sighed.

"No, Hodgins, I wasn't up all night. I fell asleep on the couch. I probably slept two or three hours."

Hodgins stared at his wife in disbelief. He had gotten used to her coming to bed way past her usual bedtime, but she had always managed to slip in at least five or six hours of sleep. This was clearly a new record, one she seemed intent on maintaining for a few days.

"Angela, you have got to stop. This is not healthy."

The artist ignored him and focused her attention on her son who, at 15 months old, could now eat by himself.

"Why do you do it? If it's to prove that-"

"The only thing I'm trying to prove is that Pelant is guilty. I just don't know what he's guilty of just yet."

Angela turned to her husband who was staring worriedly at her.

"Please try to understand."

Hodgins took a seat beside her and took her hand in his.

"I do understand, Angie. I want to get that son of a bitch too."

"Please don't swear like that in front of Michael, Hodgins."

A smile tugged at the man's lips.

"Sorry."

"I just have to find out what the codes are. Pelant is downloading them into library books and movies. Who knows what else he's doing that we're not aware of so far? If we can't get him for the murders, at least we could get him for that."

Hodgins sighed. He understood his wife's desire to put the hacker to jail for good. Brennan and her were very close, much like sisters would be, and her flee had affected Angela very much. Of course, the entire Jeffersonian team was still working very hard on the Pelant case, much to Cam's displeasure who feared retribution if they were to get caught.

"Have you heard from her?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.

Angela shook her head.

"I'm not expecting her to call me either. Wouldn't she contact Booth first?"

"I still can't believe she did this. She could at least have told him about it."

"Hey, come on now, don't judge her."

Hodgins let go of her hand and got to his feet.

"How can you defend her, Angie? She just took off. She didn't even think about the fact that it would make her look even guiltier."

"I'm sure she thought of that, Jack."

Michael had stopped eating, his spoon still hanging in his hand.

"I don't know, Angela. Also, do you know how much trouble she's going to be in when she comes back?"

"Yes, Hodgins, I do know," Angela replied, coldly. "It's all I think about lately. I know she could have just surrendered but at least now it gives us more time to outwit this psychopath. I was not going to testify at her trial, Hodgins. I'm happy she did what she did. You can't tell me you would have liked to take the stand and tell a jury where the evidence was pointing at."

Hodgins shook his head. The thought of incriminating his co-worker was revolting.

"We have no clue why Pelant is doing all those killings and we don't have the slightest idea what his next move is going to be. What if Pelant had come after her and the baby? What if Christine had died because Brennan had stayed in town? It was very brave of her to do what she did."

"I guess," Hodgins replied, not knowing what to say next.

Since Brennan's disappearance, he had thought several times about how he would react if Angela had been the one to take off with Michael without telling him first. He understood that being aware of his wife's plans would have made him an accomplice. It's probably what Brennan had tried to side step by not telling Booth what she had been planning.

Angela turned back to her son, who had resumed eating.

"I think I'll stay home with Michael today," she decided as she watched him bringing clumsily his spoonful of baby formula to his mouth. "It's been a while since we spent the day together and I could use the rest."

Hodgins nodded.

"I've got to go to work. I'll tell Cam you won't be coming in. Call me if you need anything."

As Hodgins closed the door behind him and made his way to the garage, he hoped that Angela would use this sudden vacation day to get some sleep.

* * *

Christine hungrily sucked at her mother's breast as they both sat on the hard and uncomfortable motel couch. Brennan had turned on the television a few minutes earlier and now waited anxiously for the newscaster to talk about her. It had been two days since she had last seen the news and it made her nervous not to know what was going on. What if someone had recognized her in spite of her new appearance?

Behind the closed door of the small motel bathroom, she could hear her father trimming his beard. At first, Max had proposed she should get a bit of plastic surgery, like he had done when he had gone on the run decades earlier. She had vehemently refused, stating that once she would go back to her normal life, she would need to look like herself again. Not only for her professional career, but also for her friends and especially Booth, who probably would find it difficult to love her again if she looked like someone else.

Her father had then provided her with a new identity. Mary Curtis wore a red-haired wig, brown contact lenses, and fake glasses. She had a young daughter named Colleen, aged seven months, but born prematurely which explained her small stature. They were crossing the United States with her uncle, Robert Neil. The trio was planning on visiting Mary's mother. A rift had caused them to not speak to each other for years. Now that Mary had a child, she wanted her mother to know her grandchild.

Max had insisted on that cover-up story, but Brennan doubted they could use it for much time. To her, the story seemed so ordinary and predictable that she feared someone would see right through it and would recognize her for the fraud she was. Max had soothed her worries by saying that not everyone was as smart as she was. Yet, a slight paranoia still remained.

She looked down at her daughter and smiled. Christine was still sucking on her breast, her eyes closed in contentment. She loved her more than she ever thought she would love. For years, she had doubted herself, often thinking she would not be capable of taking care of another human being, yet alone connecting with such a young person. Much to her surprise, she had found it fairly easy to connect with her daughter. One look was all it took to bring out a tidal wave of love towards her child.

She had a similar connection with Booth. Tears welled up in her eyes as she thought of him, all alone in their home. She hadn't told him about his plans for the obvious reason that she hadn't wanted to make him an accomplice. There had also been Christine's welfare. If both parents had left together and they had been caught, Christine would have become an orphan, with relative to take care of her. Max was obviously out of the question since he was supposed to be on the run and she was not going to let her daughter become part of the system like she had been so many years ago.

Booth's voice still echoed in her ears. She had played deaf as she'd heard Booth yell after her to come back and it had taken all of her might not to turn around and go back to him where she belonged. But Christine in the backseat and the thought of her crossing path with Pelant had been enough to convince her to keep moving. Her cellphone had rung most of the night, Booth's face popping up on her screen, telling her he was trying to reach her. Again, she had ignored it. Soon, she would need to get rid of it anyway. It was better if she didn't answer it.

She wondered whether or not he had understood and forgiven her by now. It worried her to think that maybe her leaving meant the end of their relationship. She had meant every word she had told him after Christine's christening and she hoped that he knew that. She longed to be back in the safety of his arms, especially when she was asleep in her motel bed or in her car.

She thought of her friends and her job back at the Jeffersonian, wondering if her team was still working on the Pelant case or if they had given up hope to ever catch him. Did they believe her to be guilty? Angela had tried helping her by providing her with an alibi, but what about the others? It was Cam's evidence that had led to her arrest warrant.

Anger boiled inside her veins. This was Pelant's doing. He considered himself a genius and Brennan had to grant him that. But no one was perfect. The perfect crime didn't exist. Eventually, Pelant would make a mistake and her team would be on him likes sharks smelling fresh blood.

The mention of the FBI made her look up from her daughter. A thumbnail picture of her now hung in the top left corner of the screen.

"_The FBI is still investigating the disappearance of renowned forensic anthropologist, Dr. Temperance Brennan. The statewide search has long been extended into a nationwide one, yet no trace of the famous writer or her daughter has been reported. Dr. Brennan disappeared a month ago, on May 14__th__, after an arrest warrant had been issue against her for the murder of Evan Sawyer. She is traveling with her six-month-old daughter, Christine. The FBI asks anyone with information to call the hot tip line and reminds the population that the calls can remain anonymous."_

Brennan sighed in relief. She had survived another day. No one had informed the FBI of her whereabouts which meant, so far, that Max's cover story was working. Tomorrow, they would be moving to a new place. She still had no idea where Max was taking her. So far, he had taken her across the United States to the West coast. He only gave her directions as they drove down the highways, stopping every now and then to sleep, eat, and exercise. Sitting in a car all day long wasn't good for any of them.

Christine had finally stopped sucking and Brennan realized her daughter had fallen asleep in her arms. Carefully, she pulled down her shirt and got to her feet. She set her daughter down in her playpen and went to lie down on the bed.

She hoped her team would catch Pelant soon. She didn't know how much longer she could hold without contacting Booth. If only she could tell him they were okay, but she knew it would be too risky to contact him. She would just have to be patient. Eventually, the newscaster would announce that Pelant had been arrested for the murders and she would be able to come home.


	4. Chapter 3

Gravel crunched under his feet as Booth climbed out of his SUV and slowly made his way to the crime scene. In the distance, voices were barking orders. In front of him, standing by their car, red and blue lights still twirling, two Maryland State police officers were talking to a shaken-looking woman. The woman seemed to be shaking under the grey woollen blanket around her shoulders. Her expression froze as her eyes fell on Booth. Ignoring her, he walked straight past the trio and headed for the yellow tape a few steps ahead.

The skeletal remains had been found by hikers, floating in the edge of the Potomac River. Cam had called him earlier to inform him she would meet him there, but Booth wasn't sure how much help she would be able to offer. She had made it clear several times that bones were out of her expertise, which was why he was surprised to find her standing there. His initial astonishment was immediately doubled when his gaze fell on the two young men also present. Finn and Wendell stood around the remains, both looking rather uncomfortable by their sudden thrust into a real crime scene.

"Agent Booth!" Wendell exclaimed, looking up from the remains. "Dr. Saroyan asked us to come out to the crime scene to assist her with the identification."

Booth looked over at his former girlfriend, whose smile twitched on her lips.

"So, what can you two tell me?" Booth asked, straightforwardly.

Wendell shifted nervously. Glancing at Finn, he seemed unsure what to tell Booth.

"Just relax, Mr. Bray," Cam told him, soothingly. "We understand it's your first time out on the field. Take your time and examine the remains completely. We are not in any rush here."

The two interns nodded before crouching down beside the bones. As they began to mutter between themselves, Booth looked over at his friend, eyebrows quirked. Cam chuckled.

"Would you have preferred Daisy?" she asked, another smile twitching at her lips. "I know this is weird, but I had no other choice. With Dr. Brennan gone-"

Booth swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat at the sound of his girlfriend's name.

"I understand, Cam," he replied, interrupting her.

"It's a woman," Finn announced. "Approximately 40 years old. Caucasian. She's given birth. Her pelvis…"

Booth let out a sigh of irritation.

"Just what we needed: another kid losing its mom."

Silence fell above the crime scene. Wendell and Finn resumed their examination as Cam subtly looked over at her friend. Though Booth openly told anyone who asked he had forgiven his girlfriend for running away, Cam still suspected the hurt lingered. Knowing Booth, the loss of his daughter would haunt him until he was reunited with his family. She kept that thought to herself, not wanting to cause more frustration than there already was inside her friend's heart.

"We can't say anything more until we clean the bones," Wendell said, minutes later. "The cause of death isn't apparent. We'll need to bring her to the Jeffersonian."

"Of course," Cam replied. "We'll wrap the body up. Good job, guys."

The interns exchanged looks and let out a sigh of relief.

"How are things going?"

Startled, Cam spun around on her chair to find Booth standing in her doorway.

"Finn is still cleaning the bones. As soon he's done, Wendell will be able to start working on the tissue markers. We should have identification by tomorrow afternoon."

Booth frowned.

"Why not today?"

"Angela took the day off, and since she's the only one who knows how to use the Angelator, we're kind of stuck."

Burying her head in her hands, she ran them up and down her face.

"Hodgins told me she hasn't slept in days. She's been trying to figure what the codes mean."

Stepping further into the office, Booth examined his friend. For the first time in weeks, Cam was letting her cool and strong appearance she has had since her colleague's disappearance and showing the strain the events had left in her mind.

"Has she had any luck?"

The symbols left at the crime scenes had held the team's attention. Even though Booth doubted they would find another useful once they would be translated in something comprehensible, he knew the squints would never give up.

Cam shook her head.

"I can hardly believe that she will ever crack them. Pelant is very intelligent, maybe more than us."

"Don't say that, Cam. Your team is very smart and so are you. Bones is counting on us to prove her innocence."

Cam let out a sigh.

"You do know what you're asking of me, right Seeley? You're asking me to go against my bosses, to investigate something I am not legally allowed to, in order to prove that someone with a national arrest warrant that she did not commit murder. All the evidences pointed to her, Seeley. I tried, but I couldn't find _anything_ that proved otherwise."

"I already know all of that," Booth replied, jaw clenched. "You told me, you told us, you told everybody! But that doesn't mean that you _have_ to believe it. You know Bones; you know she wouldn't murder anyone."

"Have you heard from her?" Cam asked, hoping to drop the subject.

"No, and it would be very dangerous for her if I did."

Before Cam could answer, Wendell knocked on her door and came in. His beaming expression informed them there had been a breakthrough in their recent case.

"I found a match!" he announced as he handed over a file to his boss. "Not many 40-year-old women have disappeared in the past year. Helena Moscovitch, 39, disappeared from Baltimore six months ago. Her husband reported her missing when she failed to show up at their 12-year-old twins' school to pick them up."

Cam flipped through the folder.

"But didn't you say state of decomp stated the victim had died within the last two months?"

"It seems like she had disappeared before she was killed. Maybe she ran away from her failed marriage or something."

"That's speculation, Mr. Bray," Cam warned. "Stick to the facts, please."

"I'm sorry, Dr. Saroyan."

"Helena Moscovitch... Her name seems familiar."

"Really?" Cam replied, surprised. "The file says she is originally from Latvia. She immigrated in Philadelphia in 1980."

"She was seven," Booth murmured.

Suddenly, wavy blonde hair flashed before his eyes. Intense blue eyes were staring back at him and giggles echoed in his mind. He remembered the 7-year-old girl who had arrived in his grade 2 classroom, only speaking Latvian. She had immediately become the class pet. Kids had treated her like an animal in a zoo the first few weeks: asking her questions, but getting annoyed when she couldn't answer them in English. She had spent most of her elementary school years alone, despite having learned the language within months of her arrival. Booth had never taken the time to know her, even after they had graduated to high school. She had spent her days reading or talking to her "weird" friends; he had been busy playing jock all over school. Their paths had just never really crossed.

"I knew her. We went to elementary and high school together. We weren't friends, but we had almost all the same classes."

"So, you know the victim?" Wendell asked, unsure.

Booth glared at him.

"What are you implying?"

"I am not implying anything, Agent Booth," Wendell immediately replied. "I'm mainly stating a fact. But after what Pelant has done to Dr. Brennan, the idea simply crossed my mind that-"

"That's enough, Mr. Bray!" Cam intervened. "You are speculating once again. Nothing at the crime scene or in the cause of death has pointed to Pelant, and Finn hasn't barged in my office to tell me he has found encryptions on the bones. I would appreciate if we could keep an objective mind about our cases."

Wendell sighed and nodded.

"Get back to work. We still need to be 100% sure that remains really do belong to Helena Moscovitch. Let me know when the ID is official."

As Wendell walked out of the office, Cam turned to Booth.

"Don't let his comment cloud your judgment, Seeley," she warned her friend. "Like I just said, we have no proof Pelant killed that woman, just like we have no proof that he f-..."

"You know me better than this, Cam," Booth interrupted her. "Listen, if you need me, I'll be at my office. I'll start making some calls to arrange interviews with Helena's husband. If she ran away from him, I'll find out."

The ride back to his office was spent in deep reflection. Booth still couldn't understand why Cam hadn't joined their fight against Pelant. She seemed to be the only one who believed Bones to be guilty. She had told him, prior to Bones' disappearance, that she had had to believe in the evidence. Booth didn't understand why she couldn't also believe in Bones' innocence.

The elevator shaft was empty when the doors opened in front of him. Stepping inside, he shifted his focus to the recent case. He remembered Helena as a weird, yet sweet child and teenager. Teachers easily trusted her. Who would want her dead? Had she changed so much after high school? It was possible she had landed herself in trouble. He hadn't known her that well and hadn't seen her in more than 20 years.

The elevator doors chimed as they opened. For once, no one stared at him as he made his way to his office. His relief was short-lived as he spotted Flynn staring out his office window.

Booth loudly cleared his throat. Flint, who had his back to him, turned around.

"Seeley! I'm surprised to see you back to work so quickly."

Booth scoffed as he walked to his desk and sat down. Turning his gaze to his computer screen, he hoped would take the hint that he was in no mood to talk to him and leave.

"I guess you are now single. I'm sure a few female FBI agents will be happy to hear that."

Booth felt the anger rise inside of him. Clenching his fist together, he remained calm. He wouldn't give Flint satisfaction by showing him how he felt. His fingers typed nothing in particular on his keyboard.

"Though I did hear that you prefer blondes, which makes the fact that you had a baby with a brunette all the more interesting."

"I love Bones," Booth replied, his eyes transfixed on his computer screen. "You probably don't even know what love is, Flynn."

Flynn chuckled.

"You still love her after what she's done?"

Booth's fingers froze above the keys as his jaw clenched. An evil smile stretched across Flynn's face.

"It's funny how you call your girlfriend. 'Bones' is such a horrible nickname."

Unable to contain himself any longer, Booth shot to his feet making his colleague chuckle.

"That temper of yours is really going to get you in trouble one day, Seeley," Flynn sneered, shaking his head slightly.

"What do you want, Flynn?" Booth asked, glaring at his arrogant colleague.

"I heard you found a body in the Potomac River. How are you going to solve that one without your girlfriend? You really think her little team will be able to crack this one?"

"That's really none of your business."

A small smile flashed across Flynn's lips.

"Right… It's none of my business."

The two men stared at each other, Flynn still wearing that sadistic smile.

"Well, I better leave you to your job. You probably have some suspects to interrogate."

At the door, Flynn paused.

"You can't hide anything from me, Seeley. I'm aware of everything that goes on in this building. Remember that."

On that statement, Flynn walked out of the office and disappeared from Booth's sight.


	5. Chapter 4

**A/N: Sorry for the lack of updates. I'm working on this story slowly to make sure I'm satisfied with what I post. Hopefully you're enjoying this story; please let me know what you think. Feedback helps greatly. **

**Little recap: The body of Helena Moscovitch was found near the Potomac river. Booth knew her from his high school years and is now going to interrogate the woman's husband. Meanwhile, Bones is still on the run under the alias Mary Curtis, who is crossing the United States to visit her long lost mother, with her daughter Colleen, 7 months, and her uncle Robert (her mother's brother). Angela is going nuts trying to figure out what those codes mean and Hodgins is worried about her health (both mental and physical).**

**Thanks to Google Translate for its help with the Latvian language! ;)**

* * *

Getting Niklavs Moscovitch to Washington turned out to be more challenging than Booth had expected. The family's fortune was modest and Helena's husband had made it clear that they didn't have the money to travel such long distance. Booth assured the man the Bureau would cover his expenses. It was then agreed Niklavs and his twin would be meeting him the following Wednesday.

He'd tried to imagine how Helena's husband would have looked like. In his mind, he saw a medium-sized man with a square jaw and blue eyes. From what he could remember, Helena had been pretty and Booth had figured she would have married a man of similar beauty, which is why it surprised him to find a tall and skinny man sitting across from him. His brown hair fell to his shoulders and his beard was unshaven.

The sadness reflecting in the Latvian man's eyes echoed his own sadness. He understood the man's pain more than he ever thought he would. Booth rejoiced in the knowledge that, once it was all over, his girlfriend would come back. Niklavs Moscovitch would not have that chance.

"Where are my children?" Niklavs asked as Booth took a seat across the table.

His English was heavily accented.

"Dr. Sweets is meeting with them," Booth replied as he pushed a Styrofoam cup towards the man. "Here's some water, if you'd like. Tell me how you and your wife met."

"She moved to Baltimore with her parents after high school. We both worked in a bookstore. She was 18 and I was 22. She was really beautiful, but she wanted nothing to do with me. She only wanted to be friends. Three years later, she finally agreed to go on a date with me. We were in a relationship for three years before she left me."

"Why did she leave?"

Niklavs took a gulp of water.

"Our relationship was difficult. We were always arguing and yelling at each other. I was jealous and she didn't like it. So she left."

"But she came back?"

Niklavs nodded.

"A year later, she decided to give me another chance. We married two years later and she immediately got pregnant with the twins. After they were born, there were times when we didn't get along. We argued on how to raise our children. Sometimes there was some yelling and I admit I might have pushed her a few times out of anger. But that doesn't mean I've killed her."

"I never said that you did."

"No, but I know how cops think," Niklavs replied. "Men aren't allowed to make mistakes. You think that just because I've shoved her in the past, I could have killed her out of passion."

"I never thought that. Your alibi for the day of your wife's disappearance checked out. You have nothing to be scared of."

"When Agatha and Janis started school, things were much better between Helena and me. They have been like that ever since."

"Why would your wife have run away if you were so happy together?"

Niklavs fell silent and lowered his gaze to the table.

"You weren't happy?" Booth asked, after a few seconds of silence.

The Latvian man shrugged.

"The twins were having trouble at school. My wife didn't want them to take the school bus anymore because of the torments they were dealing with on the way to school. My wife begged me to drive them to school every morning; she would pick them up at 4:00 pm and drive them home. It was easier for her and the twins, but it made me late for work every day. My boss was irritated and was threatening to fire me. I didn't want to be the one to tell him his son was terrorizing my twins."

"What happened on the day Helena disappeared? Did you notice anything unusual?"

"Helena left the house at the same time and went to work. I drove the kids to school. But then, around 4:30 pm, I got a call from my children's school asking me who was picking up my kids. I told the lady on the phone my wife was and that she should have been there by now. I was worried and I called my wife's school. They told me she had left immediately after the bell had rung. This I found odd since she always stayed a little later in the evening so she could pick the twins up at 4:00 pm. So I drove down to the high school. The twins were waiting for me on the steps outside. They asked where their mother was and I told them I didn't know."

Niklavs sighed.

"I already answered all of these questions when my wife disappeared. Do I really need to go through this again?"

The pleading in the man's eyes almost changed Booth's mind. In a gesture of the hand, he told Niklavs to continue.

"The police searched for a few days after I reported her missing. They checked the neighborhoods where she could have been, searched in rivers and surroundings lakes for her car but found nothing."

Booth cleared his throat. He hadn't told Niklavs about the discovery he had made earlier.

"When your wife's body was examined, it was determined that she died shortly over two months ago."

Niklavs gulped.

"She was alive all this time?" the man asked, his voice strangled.

Booth nodded.

"Do you have any idea why your wife could have abandoned you and your twins? Did she have any enemies or problems? Had she been complaining about someone just before she disappeared?"

The Latvian man shook his head.

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Moscovitch. That will be all for now."

Booth got to his feet.

"I'm very sorry about Helena. We went to the same high school. She was a very nice woman."

"Thank you, Agent Booth."

He'd been able to walk out of the interrogation room when a voice behind him stopped him.

"Please don't tell my kids," Niklavs pleaded. "They don't need to know their mother abandoned them."

Booth swallowed the lump that formed his throat.

* * *

"We don't need a psychiatrist," Janis grumbled, his eyes fixed on the linked fingers resting on his knees.

"Nobody said you needed one," Sweets replied, patiently.

"So why are we sitting in your office?" the teenage boy asked.

"I just thought you would be more comfortable here than in a small interrogation room."

The boy said nothing more.

Sweets examined the two children sitting across from him on the blue couch. They would both tall and lanky. Their rusty-coloured hair betrayed their maternal genes, but their chocolate brown eyes resembled those of their father. Sitting closely together on the couch, they were both staring at their hands.

"I would like to know what happened the day your mother disappeared."

Agatha slowly looked up from her hands and glanced sideways at her brother. Janis didn't move a muscle.

"Is there anything you would like to tell me, Agatha?" Sweets asked in his soft voice.

The young girl resettled her gaze on her hands.

"We won't speak, Dr. Sweets," Janis replied. "We've already told the police what we know. You're wasting your time on us. We don't know what happened to our mother."

His head snapped up and his eyes settled on Sweets. His gaze bore into him, making the psychologist slightly uncomfortable. There was something hard and indescribable in the teenager's brown orbs.

"Our mother abandoned us and it got her killed. She deserved what happened to her."

Sweets was stunned by the boy's harsh words.

"You think your mother deserved to die?"

Before her brother could answer, Agatha spoke.

"No, she didn't deserve to die."

She heard her brother scoff beside her.

"Viņa nav pelnījuši mirt, _Janis_." She didn't deserve to die, Janis.

Then, turning back to Sweets, she went on.

"My mother was very nice, Dr. Sweets. Everyone loved her. We know you're looking for enemies, but she didn't have any."

"Sometimes, parents have private lives that their children don't know about. I don't expect you to know _everything_ about your mother's life. What I want to know is what happened the day she disappeared."

"She made us breakfast and then left for work," Janis replied with the same steeliness. "She was supposed to pick us up at school but she didn't. And now, she's dead. That's all there is to know."

Agatha opened her mouth to speak but one look at her brother made her close it.

"That's all there is to know, Agatha."

Sweets bit the inside of his mouth as he observed the peculiar behavior of the teenage boy.

* * *

"The husband doesn't know much," Booth informed Sweets as the two men walked towards Booth's office. "He said everything seemed normal that morning. He definitely didn't expect his wife to take off on him."

Sweets nodded.

"The twins know something," he replied as they walked in the office.

Sweets closed the door behind him.

"The older brother has an extremely dominant behavior towards his sister. He's probably the older twin, feels like he needs to protect her. Whatever she had to say, Janis didn't want her to tell us."

"So, what are we going to do? We can't keep them here. They're heading back home as we speak. They didn't want to indulge on the FBI's money."

"That's pretty generous of them," Sweets replied.

"I'll keep looking through the files. Maybe something will pop out."

Booth took a seat at his computer. He had expected Sweets to leave his office. Instead, the psychologist was still standing across from him, looking at him expectantly.

"What?" Booth asked, irritated.

"I was just wondering how you were doing. It can't be easy to work on this case."

"I'm fine, Sweets."

"After all, two kids were abandoned by their mother and a man by his wife."

"I'm _fine_, Sweets," Booth replied through gritted teeth.

"Have you finally cleaned your house?"

Booth's head snapped in his direction but he said nothing.

"Maybe it's time you tidy up a little. The last time I was there, Christine's toys were still scattered across the house. They're not coming back any time soon. It would help with the grieving process if-"

"I haven't got around to it," Booth replied, anger once again rising inside him.

Sweets stared at him which only resulted in irritating him more.

"Don't you have work to do in your office?" Booth asked as he swivelled back to his computer screen.

Seconds later, he heard the door to his office open and close.

* * *

It was harder than he had expected it to be. After Sweets's departure, his friend's words had echoed through his mind. Many times over the last couple of weeks he had thought of putting the toys and other baby material away. Many times, he had ignored the chore, promising himself he would do it the following day. Yet tonight, he knew it had to be done. Looking at those colorful toys wouldn't bring his daughter back.

With each toy he put in the box, a tiny piece of his heart broke off. As he went through each room, gathering things here and there, he thought of them for the hundredth time today. He tried to picture his daughter's eyes and features and to recall her laughter. He thought back to her first weeks in the house. The new parents had marvelled at the calmness and quietness of their daughter. She slept part of the night and only cried when she needed feeding or changing. The rest of her time was spent smiling at her parents and giggling at their attention.

On that thought, he climbed up the stairs and walked to Christine's bedroom. There were still the baby monitors which had provided the parents 24-hour surveillance on their daughter. Reaching up, he un-taped each one from the wall and chucked them in the box.

In the master bedroom, he paused near his bed. The alarm clock glowed 6:43. Reaching over, he unplugged it from the wall. Since the alarm had broken several weeks earlier, he would throw it out. Bones had wanted to keep it, stating that she naturally woke up at 5:30 am and that she would pull him from his sleep when it was time for him to get ready. He'd laughed it off back then, but now that his girlfriend was gone, he would need an _actual_ alarm that worked.

He circled each room, checking if he had missed anything. The rooms were tidy and silence engulfed him. The box felt heavy in his arms. He stuffed it in the attic and went back down to the kitchen to throw out the alarm clock. Grabbing the garbage bag, he pulled it out of the garbage can, tied a knot at the top and dragged it out to the curb, glad the garbage truck would be picking it up the following morning.

Satisfied, he walked back in and turned on the TV to erase the loneliness he felt whenever he was in his home.


	6. Chapter 5

**A/N: Yes, already a new update! This chapter has been written for a while but I had lacked the time to work on it some more. Hope you enjoy! Don't forgot to leave your feedback at the door, especially if you liked the chapter! ;)**

* * *

The sun gently filtered through the pulled curtains and casted a thin line of light on the bedroom carpet. The room, along with the house it belonged in, was silent. The only sound came from the low humming of the refrigerator somewhere inside the small house.

Lying on top of his sheets, covered in sweat, Pelant slowly opened his eyes. The night had been hot and humid and even with the electric fan sending him colder air, he had spent most of the night tossing and turning in his bed. Now the sun was bright and high in the sky, which told him he had slept well passed his usual wake up time. Getting to his feet, Pelant made his way out through the small house and sat down in front of his computer.

As he waited for the machine to boot up, he looked around the tiny room he called his 'office'. The blinds were also shut in this part of his house, but Pelant didn't mind. He didn't need sunshine to be happy. Technology sufficed. In fact, he had never understood the pleasure of some people to sit in the sun, dripping with sweat, in hopes of a change of skin color. With summer just around the corner, he knew he would be spending much of his inside. Especially with that new project of his which would take many weeks of work. He'd already started and was fascinated by the amount of work he had done already. He had really outdone himself this time.

There was one little problem: he would need to share the glory. But that didn't matter.

_Try to solve this one!_ he thought to himself, beaming with pride.

Clicking on an icon, he began typing rapidly on his keyboard, excitement rising. He imagined what he would be seeing once the program would be launched: a big house with toys scattered everywhere, yet devoid of child laughter, with a man moping around, stripped of everything he had loved most. He'd neglected the FBI agent in the past couple of days, focusing on his new project. But now, it was time to put the third part of the plan in motion. To do so would require careful planning and relentless spying of the man's life.

He had expected to find the beautifully furnished house popping up on his screen. All he saw was darkness. Confused but thinking the program had simply malfunctioned, he closed it down and started it up once more. Again, the same darkness greeted him. His pulse quickened in anxiety. What was going on? Where were the monitors and why couldn't he access them? It had worked the previous week.

Growling in frustration, Pelant got his feet and began pacing the small room. His new obsession had caused him to slack off on his other duties and it had cost him. Agent Booth had probably taken them down after realizing his family wasn't coming back any time soon. How could he have been so foolish to think he would keep them on the wall? He'd been too arrogant, too confident in himself. He had made his first and only mistake. He had no way of knowing if Booth was inside the house. Even though he had been looking forward to blowing up that ridiculously beautiful white house with its sole occupant sleeping in his bed, oblivious of the things happening in the night, he could at least prevent the agent from coming home to it that night.

Cursing to himself for having been so negligent, he went back to his computer. His anxiety had morphed into pure hatred and sadistic satisfaction. He didn't see it to detonate it. He'd find another way to get rid of the federal agent if he wasn't inside his house.

On that thought, he opened another program and began typing. Soon, miles away, an explosion shook an entire neighborhood.

* * *

Burning flesh could be smelled from miles away. As he drove down the streets leading coincidently to his neighborhood, Booth rolled up his windows and turned off the air conditioning which was blowing outside air into his car. He would never get used to the smell of burning flesh and wondered if it was even possible the pathologists. Then the questions returned: why would a garbage truck explode, killing its driver instantly along with his colleague hanging from the back of the truck and three innocent bystanders? Something didn't quite add up, Then Cam had told him where to meet her and he'd had his second shock of the day.

He parked behind the police cards aligned behind the fire trucks. The firefighters were slowly putting their hoses back into their trucks when Booth turned off the ignition and climbed out of his SUV. He could see Wendell and Finn ahead of him, accompanied by Cam. Their dark blue jumpsuits stood out in a sea of yellow.

He followed them at a distance to the smoky wreckage of the garbage truck. Its frame still stood, a carbonized metallic skeleton standing weak in the middle of a classy neighborhood. His heart caught in his throat as the smell of burned bodies heightened and flooded his nostrils, leaving a disgusting taste on his tongue.

"This is going to be pretty bad," Cam informed him. "Approximately five people were killed and a few others were injured, according to the police. Bones are scattered across a 50-feet radius. The techs will be here all-day collecting all the missing bones."

Beside his feet laid what seemed to be phalanges.

"What happened?" he asked, coughing out the disturbing smell.

Further up the street, an engine revved and siren pierced through the commotion.

"The few witnesses who didn't get hurt only managed to tell us the garbage truck stopped at the stop sign and simply exploded. Recovery is here; they'll try to sift through the debris."

Booth looked around. Several houses had now broken windows and small metallic objects were scattered on several lawns. It would take the technicians a couple of hours to collect every piece of evidence.

"Fortunately, no one inside the homes was seriously injured A few of things have cuts and bruises from the broken windows but it's nothing a couple of stitches won't fix."

Then, shifting to another foot, Cam added, rather uncomfortably:

"Isn't this street close to your house?"

Booth nodded.

"Yeah, we're about two blocks away."

"Isn't it a little strange?"

Booth shrugged.

"It could just be a coincidence," he replied, turning his gaze from Cam to the still smoking metallic skeleton.

Even as he said it, he had a hard time believing it.

* * *

"Thanks Cam," Booth said before flipping his cellphone shut.

Leaning back against his chair, Booth closed his eyes and sighed. More than seven hours had passed since the explosion and the Jeffersonian team had just left the crime scene. According to Cam, all the bones had been recovered, bagged, and shipped to the lab where Finn and Wendell would do the body recompositions. Booth knew by experience that it would be days or even weeks before the skeletons would be put back together.

Talking with the victims at the hospital and the neighborhood population, Booth had been able to identify the three bystanders killed: Andrew and Elizabeth Shaw, 28 and 35; they had been taking their morning walk with Andrew's mother, Rachel Shaw, 76. It had been fairly easy to discover the garbage men from the employing company: James Marvin, 35, father of two, and Justin Kennedy, 26.

The fire inspectors were still trying to figure out what had caused the truck to explode. The garbage company had assured them that each truck was checked daily for mechanical malfunctions, yet big trucks didn't just explode out of the blue. Had there been a bomb in the truck? If so, who had put it there and detonated it? And most importantly, why?

His initial thought process had leaded him to Pelant. His gut feeling, or maybe it had been paranoia, had brought him to wonder if his house hadn't been the meant target. He had immediately washed those thoughts away. The truck had exploded two blocks away from his home. Evidently, if someone had wanted to blow up his house, they'd had plan it more carefully.

"Pelant doesn't make that kind of mistake," Sweets had told him earlier that afternoon. "If it was him and he had wanted to burn your house down, he would have implanted the bomb _inside_ your house. He wouldn't have used a garbage truck, especially not one who wasn't even near your home."

Booth had stopped himself from saying the truck had been at his house earlier to pick up the garbage. Sweets had been right on one thing: Pelant was intelligent and a perfectionist. Everything he did was carefully planned. This explosion sounded random to him. He was probably just trying to pin today's event on Pelant to have something to arrest him for.

A soft knock at the door made him look up. His heart skipped a beat as his gaze fell on the beautiful blonde standing outside his door, staring at him.

"Hannah?" he asked, surprised. "What are you doing here?"

The journalist stepped inside his office.

"Seeley, we need to talk."


	7. Chapter 6

They had stood facing each other in silence. The original surprise at being reunited had soon turned into awkwardness. Eyes not quite meeting, Booth had repeated his earlier question. Hannah had replied the same. He had pondered what to do and, after a few questions, he'd stood up and had led her out of the Hoover Building. They'd taken his SUV and had driven in silence through the streets of Washington to the Founding Fathers. At this time of day, the place was nearly empty.

"Sorry to have just barged in on you like that," Hannah apologized once again as they took a seat. "I should have called first."

Booth shrugged. The initial shock had morphed into irritation. Being here with Hannah wasn't something he was truly enjoying. The attraction was still present, yet he couldn't help the images of her rejection from flashing before his eyes. A wave of guilt washed over him. He didn't know what Hannah wanted to talk about, but he still felt like he was betraying his girlfriend's trust. He tried to remind himself that Bones was far away and that she wouldn't have minded since she'd always liked Hannah and knew he would never cheat on her, despite being angry with her.

"After I heard about the explosion, I just needed to see you."

"How did you know about the explosion?" Booth asked, surprised.

"I'm a journalist, Seeley. Give me _some_ credit."

Booth chuckled.

"And it was all over the news," he added, a smile twitching at his lips.

"That too."

Silence fell between them and Booth cleared his throat, uncomfortable.

"I also heard about Temperance being on the run."

* * *

_A small supermarket; a woman testing the firmness of apples, her profile undeniable. _

_She walked over. Picking at the apples, she talked about her grandmother's pies before introducing herself as Hannah Burley. Eyes met._

"_Mary Curtis."_

* * *

"I'm very sorry about what is happening to you, Seeley. I know how difficult it must be for you, being separated from your girlfriend and your daughter that way. Have you heard from her at all?"

She already knew the answer, but she asked anyway. Just as she had expected, Booth shook his head.

"It's better if she doesn't. It would make me an accomplice and come land us both in very big trouble. My daughter deserves both of her parents."

* * *

_A dark-haired man joined Mary. The baby girl in his arms clutched a small bag of tomatoes. Hannah smiled at her. The infant looked her way before shyly turning away from her smile._

"_This is my Uncle Robert," Mary said, "and my daughter Colleen."_

_Colleen's blue eyes betrayed her maternal genes._

* * *

"Why did you stop by my office, Hannah?"

The question brought her back to reality. The steeliness of his voice took her by surprise. She shouldn't have been surprised; she'd imagined their reunion many times over the last year, each time with a different outcome, a different attitude. The guilt at having turned him down still lingered after all these months.

"I want to help."

Booth frowned.

"I want to help prove that Temperance is innocent. We both know she would never kill anyone."

Booth rubbed his chin.

"The problem is, Hannah, she has killed before and the FBI is fully aware of that."

"She killed in _self-defence_, Seeley, not in cold-blooded murder."

"I still don't understand how and you would help me."

"Temperance is my friend and I _want_ to help. I'm an investigative journalist now. I can blend in with the crowd, ask questions without raising suspicions. Criminals have a sixth sense when it comes to cops. They don't have one for journalists."

Booth sighed. Hannah's proposition was definitely tempting. His own investigation was going nowhere and they were still far from proving Pelant had manipulated evidence to frame Bones. With the Moscovitch murder, it gave him and the rest of the Jeffersonian team less time to focus on their friend. However, he was reluctant to send his former girlfriend out in the world, looking for a killer, and he had no desire of being her bodyguard.

"I'll think about it."

Hannah smiled at him before changing the subject.

"So tell me, how did this happen? Christine, I mean… How did it happen?"

Booth frowned upon hearing his daughter's name. How had Hannah found out about her name? Had it been on the news? He'd kept away from every newscast and newspaper since his family's disappearance.

* * *

"_Thanks for stopping by. Can I offer you something to drink?"_

"_No, thanks, I can't stay long. I just wanted to know how you were doing."_

"_I'm doing well. I'm glad we found this apartment. Driving around the country and sleeping in motel rooms was fatiguing, especially with a baby."_

_Colleen sat on the kitchen floor, surrounded by a few toys._

"_What's her real name?"_

"_Christine."_

* * *

The air grew awkward around them as Booth told her about Vincent Nigel Murray's death. He explained that, fearing for his partner's safety, he had invited her to sleep at his apartment.

"In the middle of the night, she walked in my room. She was crying and she thought the intern's death was her fault. I took her in my arms and we fell back into my bed. I'd never seen her so distraught, I didn't know what to do. I kissed her forehead. She froze, looked up at me, and I… kissed her. I'm sure you can figure out the rest."

He hadn't thought of that night in a very long time and the memory of it sent a painful jolt through his heart. Their first moment together had marked him for ever. He had felt guilty at first, like he had taken advantage of her in a state of weakness. Then he remembered that, if it had been, over-rational Brennan would have taken over and said that it wouldn't be a good idea if they slept together. The guilt had then changed to strong happiness.

Hannah nodded.

"Well, I'm glad things worked out for you in the end."

Silence crept back between them. Behind them, the door opened and a bell chimed bringing loud voices into the bar. The four men made their way to the end of the room, laughing hysterically.

"I'm very sorry about…"

"Don't," Booth interrupted her briskly.

"No, really, Seeley. I am sorry."

Booth shook his head.

"Don't worry about it, Hannah. I've moved on and I'm happy with Bones. I'm glad things worked out the way they did."

"Nevertheless, I still feel guilty about what happened between us. Helping you would be my way of paying you back for all the pain."

Booth let out a long sigh. His internal struggle was weakening.

"You know it will be very dangerous? Pelant is very sneaky."

"I'll be very careful."

"That's not all. The agent currently in charge of the investigation doesn't hesitate to kick anyone close to Bones off the case. He's determined to prove that she's guilty. Nothing will change his mind."

A smile twitched at her lips.

"You're not going to change my mind about this. I _want_ to help."

"Then, there might be something I would need your help with."

The bell chimed once more. Booth felt his heartbeat accelerate as his eyes fell on his colleague. Flynn made his way to their table, a distorted half-smile on his face, eyes glinting strangely.

"Talking to the press, Seeley?" he asked "Do I need to remind you that you are no long investigating your girlfriend's murder? Unless you were telling this beautiful lady the whereabouts of your beloved doctor, then in that case, I want to be there to hear it."

Booth glared at him. Flynn chuckled.

"Be careful, Seeley. If you meddle in something you are not allowed to, it might cost you your job."

Then, turning to Hannah, he added:

"Have any information you would like to share with me?"

Hannah scoffed.

"Like I'd tell you."

A smile twitched at Flynn's lips. Then, turning to his colleague he added:

"See, that's more your woman-style."

Booth sprung to his feet, fists clenched. Flynn merely chuckled before walking away. He'd been about to follow his colleague when he felt a soft touch on his forearm.

"Sit down, he's not worth it," Hannah ordered him, drawing her hand away.

"I want you to investigate _him_."

"What?"

His eyes still focused on Flynn, Booth continued.

"I want you to find as much as you can on him."

"Can't you do yourself?"

"There are things FBI files won't tell me. I want to know _exactly_ where he lives, what kind of life he leads, who he's married to, what type of car he drives, how many parking tickets he has, what likes to put on his toasts… I want to know _everything_!"

"Seeley, he's your colleague."

Booth tore his gaze back to his ex-girlfriend.

"Yeah, and I'm pretty sure he knows who killed Ethan Sawyer."


	8. Chapter 7

**A/N: Thank you for your reviews on the last chapter. I'm happy that most of you were happily surprised by Hannah's reappearance. Hope you like this new installment as much.**

* * *

Angela stared at the frozen image in front of her. Helena Moscovitch stood before a man, arms raised in hopes of protecting herself. The man held a butcher knife in his hand, ready to stab his victim. She knew before she pressed 'play' that the cut marks wouldn't match. She had been at it for an hour, trying every possible scenario she could think of, yet none of what she programmed into the computer reflected the cuts found on the bones.

Sighing, she set her pad on the table and walked over to her desk. She needed a break, a break from all of it: death, disappearances, victims, murderers… More than once, she had tried to explain to her colleagues that she wasn't cut out to work in that kind of environment. Today was one of those days where she wished she was just a regular artist, living through her art.

A file lay closed on her desk. Slowly, she slipped a finger underneath the cover and flipped it open. Designs glanced back at her; unfamiliar shapes reproduced on a white sheet of paper. She'd put the folder aside after Cam had ordered her to. She knew her boss had been right, yet she couldn't help the feeling of betrayal she felt towards her best friend whenever she thought of them. Helena Moscovitch deserved to have her murdered arrested, but Temperance Brennan deserved her innocent proven as well.

Her thoughts shifted to Christine. She had been incredibly honoured when she'd heard the baby's full name: Christine Angela. Somewhat, the angel face was growing up away from almost everyone who loved her. She knew Brennan was keeping as safe as she could. She inevitably thought of Booth, who's mood had been like a rollercoaster for weeks. Again, a wave of guilt washed over her. By not deciphering the codes, she was indirectly contributing on keeping the family apart.

She'd been about to resume examination of the symbols when a knock at her door made her look up.

"Hey," Angela said, softly. "I'm taking a little break. I'm still trying to found out what kind of weapon was used."

Booth nodded.

"So you haven't found anything?"

Angela shook her head.

"Sorry. Whenever I change the weapon, the marking on the bones change as well."

"So we're sure that she died from her stab wounds?" Booth asked as he circled the simulator, his eyes fixed on the replica of his now-older-classmate.

"Finn thinks so, and Wendell seems to agree with him."

"What does Cam say about this?"

Angela chuckled.

"Well, you know Cam! She claimed once again that bones weren't her specialty, but she did agree with the boys."

Grabbing her keypad, she typed in something. The frozen image began to move. They looked in silence as Helena Moscovitch was murdered for the twentieth time that day. Again, the markings on the bones didn't correspond.

"I heard you got a visit from Hannah."

Booth rolled his eyes.

"Sweets…" he replied, irritated.

"Hey, I think it's great she wants to help out! I just find it… odd, that she pops out of nowhere. Don't you think?"

Booth shrugged. He had given the question a lot of thought but he had given up on trying to find a rational reason as to why Hannah wanted to help. Maybe she had been honest when she'd told him that it was her way of paying him back for the hurt and rejection he'd felt when she had said no to his wedding proposal; maybe she truly cared about his partner. After all, they had been sort of friends in the past.

"How do you think she's managing this, though? Brennan, I mean… Her pictures are on every television newscasts, every newspaper, and on the Internet. The entire country is looking for her."

Booth felt his stomach churn at the thought.

"She's with her _father_," he replied, disdainfully. "He has experience in that area."

Angela frowned. Of all the things Max had done, Booth had never held a grudge against him in the past. It seemed the ex-con had finally managed in truly angering his son-in-law.

"Do you think he's the one who convinced her to leave? I have a hard time believing she would have taken that decision on her own."

This time, the bile rose a little higher.

"I don't know, okay? I don't know how she made that decision! I don't care if it was Max's idea! Why don't people stop questioning her motives and start actually trying to prove that she is innocent!"

Angela stood motionless, too shocked to react. She had never seen that side of her friend before. She watched him pace her tiny office, fist clenched, red colouring his cheeks. She watched silently as he abruptly stopped pacing and turned his gaze to Helena Moscovitch, lying on her back in the simulator. She opened her mouth to speak but he cut her off.

"Call me when you find something."

Angela let out a long sigh as Booth walked out of the room.

* * *

Slowly, he walked the short distance between his artist's office and his girlfriend's. He could feel dozens of eyes on him, but he ignored them. He knew everyone in the lab had probably heard his outburst yet he didn't care. For now, what he needed was to be somewhere that belonged to his girlfriend, to be away from prying eyes. Her office would provide just that.

He tried the knob but found it locked. Rummaging through his pockets, he took out his keychain and unlocked the door.

The room was dark and quiet. A soft smell of humidity hung in the air, telling him no one had opened this door in a long time. He felt a hint of relief inside of him. As he turned on the lights, the room was bathed in a soft glow.

For the first time in month, he took in the state of the office. Nothing seemed to have moved in the last couple of weeks. The jacket she had left behind was still hung on the back of her chair. Papers were still scattered across her desk; probably notes and forms from her last autopsies. Christine's picture still rested beside her computer screen.

Soon, memories came flooding back to him.

He saw himself here, seven years earlier, trying to get her to talk to him after he'd used her in court. A quick charming smile and the words "We have a case" had been all he'd needed to get her out with him. He then remembered the day they had found Christine Brennan's remains in the Jeffersonian, how his partner had been devastated by the answers to her questions. He had been the one to send her home and she had listened to him. Even back then he had felt something for her. He'd grown to deeply care about her, had put his trust in her just like she had done in him. He'd been one of the firsts to see the sensitive and caring person under the cold façade she showed to the outside world.

So much water had run under the bridge since the day he'd had her detained at the airport on her way back from Guatemala. Never would he have thought that they would one day be in this situation: her gone, him longing for her and his daughter's safe return.

He remembered the echography, the first time he had seen his little girl had been in this office. He could still picture the grainy image on the TV screen. He had felt grateful towards his partner for understanding his need of being part of the pregnancy. He had missed out so much on Parker, he didn't want to miss out on his daughter's life.

Feeling the need to see his daughter's face, Booth made his way to the desk. Taking a seat, he grabbed the small picture frame. Christine couldn't have been more than two months old on the picture. Her eyes, wide opened, twinkled and her large smile revealed her toothless gums. Slowly, he traced the contour of his daughter's face. Had her first teeth already come out? Had she grown or gained any weight? Would she recognize him when he would see her again? And when would that be? They weren't even close to linking Pelant to any of the murders and the FBI was more than antsy about getting their hands on his girlfriend. Would Christine eventually grow up without her mother? Would history repeat itself?

He knew asking himself these questions wouldn't get him any answers. Putting the picture frame back on her desk exactly where he had found it, he turned his thoughts to his girlfriend's computer. Had it been searched? If it had been, no evidence had turn up on it. With no apparent reason, Booth turned it on. His eyes rested on the beautiful face of his daughter, his heart thumping hard inside his chest, as he waited for the computer to boot up.

He typed in the password. He chuckled as he remembered her indignant reaction when she had found out he knew her well enough to guess what her password was. Nevertheless she hadn't changed it after all these years.

A soft melody accompanied the launching of Windows 7. Slowly, icons began to appear one by one. The usual ones appeared at the top – Microsoft Internet Explorer, Microsoft Excel, and Microsoft Word – quickly followed by folders with various names – Forms, Students, Cases…

An icon stood in the middle of the screen. Bearing the dark blue and white logo of Microsoft Word, the file had been baptized "The Woman in the River". Confused, but his curiosity piqued, Booth double-clicked on the icon. It was unlikely that his girlfriend had been working on a new book without him knowing about it. It was all the more improbable that the icon would appear so far away from the others.

A document appeared in front of his eyes. Within ten seconds of reading his heart had caught in his throat.


	9. Chapter 8

**A/N: Again thank you to those who take the time to review. It does really give me motivation to keep going if I know you're enjoying the story. I hope you like this long chapter. I will need to stop updating quickly for a while so I can write more new chapters. I've almost caught up to the last chapters written and I don't want to publish anything more until I have more chapters written for this story. But don't worry, I'm not giving up.**

* * *

His heart hammered inside his chest as Booth slowly took in the content of the document. Minutes ticked by in silence; somewhere in the lab, he could hear the hubbub of people talking. His throat felt dry. Several times, he had felt his heart catch in his throat. The document left nothing to the imagination. He didn't need anyone to tell him that this wasn't good; in fact, it was pretty bad.

The sound of a throat being cleared startled him. His head shot in the direction of the door where Hodgins stood in the doorway, eyebrows frowned in confusion.

"I'm sorry," Hodgins said, uncomfortable. "I saw the door was open, I just had to…"

"It's okay, Hodgins," Booth cut him off, not wanting to listen to his colleague's words.

His voice sounded off in his ears. The entire situation had left him feeling bizarre, like his world had shifted once more. As much as he wanted to protect his girlfriend, he knew the deep trouble he could be into for not sharing this new information.

"Do you…"

Booth cleared his throat.

"Do you know where Cam is?"

"I think she's doing an autopsy. Why? Did you find something?"

Booth sighed, irritated.

"Could you get her, please? There's something here she'll want to see."

Hodgins's face lit up.

"So you _did_ find something!" the entomologist said, excited. "What did you find? Something that will incriminate Pelant?"

"Could you just tell her to come here? And you, go back to work! I'm sure there are bugs somewhere just waiting for you to unleash the secrets they are guarding within!"

Hodgins' eyebrows shot upward.

"That was some serious poetry, Dude! Though I don't really care for the sarcastic tone you used."

Booth rolled his eyes.

"Just tell Cam to come here."

As Hodgins disappeared, Booth leaned back and rubbed his face. He definitely hadn't expected to find the document when he had turned on his girlfriend's computer. He wondered where the file came from. After all, her computer had probably been searched during the investigation. If it had, it meant that the file had been created sometime within the five past weeks.

He turned his gaze back to the screen. Several words seemed to pop out at him and he tried to ignore him. If this document turned out to be legitimate… He didn't want to think about it.

He hadn't heard her come in.

"You've just had me pulled from an autopsy, Seeley. This better be important."

"Take a look," Booth replied, gesturing towards the computer screen. "I think you'll find it worth the trip."

Cam's eyes widened as they took in the words displayed across the screen.

* * *

"What is going on?" Wendell asked as he joined the remaining of his colleagues on the overhead platform. "Why did Cam ask us to meet her here?"

Everyone shrugged.

"Maybe it has something to do with Dr. Brennan," Finn offered.

"I think Booth found something," Hodgins replied.

The team fell silent. No one wanted link Booth's possible discovery to their missing anthropologist. They were all lost in their thoughts when Booth and Cam eventually made their way to the group. All eyes were on Cam as she took a seat across from them, rested a document on her lap, and rubbed her face with both hands.

"I don't know where to start," she said, avoiding eye contact. "Let's just say we've got a very big problem."

The team exchanged worried looks.

"What is it?" Angela asked, voicing the team's worry. "Has something happened to Brennan?"

Her gaze turned to Booth who simply looked away.

"Booth has found something interesting on Dr. Brennan's computer. There was a document. It's a story."

"A story?" Wendell asked, perplexed. "What kind of story?"

His eyes fell to the document on his boss's lap.

"It describes in very vivid images how Dr. Brennan murdered Helena Moscovitch."

Silence fell above the room. Cam lowered her gaze to the document, desperately clinging to the hope that this was a mistake. Yet the document still lay on her lap, words shooting back at her the reality of the situation. As no one said a word, Cam took it as her cue. She slowly began reading the five-page document. When she finished, all eyes were glaring at her.

"That's impossible!" Angela replied, outraged. "Helena has been dead for more than two months. Brennan can't have killed her; she didn't even _know_ her."

Cam shifted uncomfortably in her chair. The document had explained the motive of the murder. Whoever had written it, they had covered every inch.

"Please don't overreact, Angela," Cam replied, looking over at Booth for support.

"How can I not overreact?"

Hodgins lay a hand on top of his wife's but she aggressively pulled it away.

"Why would Brennan kill Helena Moscovitch? Did _she_ threaten to kill Christine too? Because it seems to be a running theme lately. Who put it there?"

Cam frowned.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, who put the file in Brennan's computer?" Angela repeated, slowly. "It can't have been her. She's gone and we don't know where she is."

Cam took a deep breath. She needed to choose her words carefully.

"That's what we need to find out," she replied, avoiding Angela's gaze and focusing on the rest of her team. "We need to know if the file was place on Brennan's desktop or if it was created on her computer."

"So you think someone walked into the lab undetected and described in details the murder of Helena Moscovitch?" Wendell asked. "And let's say for a minute that it was Dr. Brennan. You really think she could have walk in here without getting recognized?"

"I don't know what happened, Mr. Bray, but we have to examine every possibility. Can anyone really prove that Dr. Brennan hasn't come back in the middle of the night to write that chapter herself?"

Somewhere below, the sliding doors swished opened.

"Angela, I want you to look at the file and try to figure out where it came from. Mr. Bray, I want you to go down to the Civil War exhibit and find the sword described in the document. We need to verify if Helena Moscovitch was really stabbed and slashed to death with that _particular_ sword. I will talk to the museum director to get his approval for testing. Until then, I want no liquid or any kind of substance poured onto it. Do I make myself clear?"

Silence fell once again. Angela shot to her feet and stomped away from the group. Hodgins immediately followed her. Finn and Wendell stayed seated, but anger radiated from them. Cam averted their eyes and turned to her former boyfriend. His eyes bore into hers with cold anger.

"You really think Bones is a murderer?"

Every inch of her body yelled at her that it couldn't be true. But she worked for the Medico-Legal Lab. She had to be logical and rational.

"We need to look at the facts, Seeley."

She watched him shoot to his feet.

"I don't _care_ what the facts say. Bones is _not_ a murderer!"

* * *

The FBI agent followed in Angela's footsteps, Wendell and Finn on his heels. Left alone, Cam buried her face in her hands. It felt like a nightmare, one she knew she couldn't simply wake up from. The facts were there, she couldn't erase them to fit her desire. Quickly, tears of discouragement fell from her eyes.

As she climbed what felt like the tenth flight of stairs, Bones cursed her father for having chosen an apartment on the last floor of a building with no elevators. The bags clutched in her hands felt heavy. Silence surrounded her, only broken by the sound of her footsteps on the metallic stairs as it bounced off the walls to disappear above her head. She forced herself not to look up, avoiding being discouraged by the two remaining flights of stairs. Her muscles were aching and her wig was slightly lopsided. She would have to fix it when she would reach the last landing.

She was surprised her father's plan had worked out so perfectly. No one in this small South Carolina town questioned her identity. To them and the tenants of the building, she was just Mary Curtis who rented an apartment to raise her daughter Colleen, with the help of her uncle Robert. Neighbors left them alone; in their eyes, Mary was lucky to have such a caring uncle.

Several seconds later, she made it to the top floor. Dropping her plastic bags on the cold tile, she adjusted her wig and her glasses. Catching her reflection in a window, she examined herself. With the make-up, the wig, the glasses, and her brown contact lenses, she almost didn't look like herself. Her behavior had also needed adjustment. Mary Curtis didn't have an elaborate vocabulary; she didn't work as a forensic anthropologist and had never owned a big house in Washington, DC. She was simply a single parent who had lost her husband in the war in Iraq and wished for a quiet life for her daughter.

Grabbing her bags, she slowly made her way down the hallway. The dark red carpet stank and gave off a vague smell of smoke. It didn't matter; they wouldn't live here for too long. She trusted her team. They would catch Pelant.

Setting one set of bags on the smelly carpet, Bones reached for her keys and unlocked the door. As she pushed it open, she was greeted by the sound of shooting guns. Her father was watching yet another action movie.

"Hey Robert, I'm home!" she said as she dragged the bags inside the apartment and closed the door behind her.

"Hey Honey," Max replied, his eyes never leaving the TV. "Christine is sound asleep in her crib. Want to watch this movie with me? It's really good."

"No thank you, Dad. I've got some groceries to put away then I think I will take a shower and go to bed."

"The life of a fugitive is making you tired?" Max asked, chuckling.

"Yeah, something like that."

"Oh, I almost forgot. Hannah called."

Bones, who had been putting food in the refrigerator, slammed the door shut. Objects on the wall and in the cupboards rattled. Max turned his attention to his daughter who was staring back at him.

"What did she say?"

"She just said to call her back as soon as you got home."

Making sure nothing else needed to be stored in the fridge, Bones left the remaining of the groceries on the floor and headed for her bedroom. She paused at the door, not wanting to wake her daughter. Slowly, she turned the knob and opened the door. Her new cellphone lay on the dresser where she had left it. Flipping it open, she punched in a few numbers, securing the line, before dialing Hannah's number.

The journalist answered after the fourth ring.

"Hey Hannah, it's Mary. What's going on?"

Her heart raced inside her chest. Hannah had agreed to be her liaison to her former life in Washington, but they had agreed she would only contact her if any development had occurred.

"They found something."

From her tone, Bones immediately knew this wouldn't be good news. Hannah had obviously chosen her words carefully. Behind her, Christine stirred in her sleep.

"They found a file on Dr. Brennan's computer."

"What kind of file?"

Hannah explained what Booth had told her. Bones could feel her heart racing insider her chest. This definitely wasn't good. She knew she had nothing to do with the document on her computer, but she also knew the FBI wouldn't agree with her. After all, it was plausible for her to have returned to Washington, slipped inside the lab, and to have written that story herself.

"Angela is trying to figure out where the document came from."

"You said Agent Booth knew the victim?"

"Apparently, they went to high school together. That could simply be a coincidence. Nothing has been found on her body or the crime scene that would suggest Pelant has anything to do with it."

"Thanks, Hannah, for the information."

Then, taking a deep breath, she added:

"How is Agent Booth?"

She thought she sensed Hannah hesitating on her side of the line. Seconds passed by in silence.

"It's hard to say, really. I think he's hurt by what Temperance has done, but he hasn't given up on proving she's innocent. I think he just wants his family back. Is there anything I should be telling him?"

Bones looked over at the family picture standing on her nightstand. Booth had pressured her into taking a professional family picture during Parker's last visit. The family of four looked back at her, smiling happily for the photographer. Their happiness had been genuine. A fresh batch of tears formed at the back of her eyes. Did he only understand why she had done what she had done?

"Actually, do you think you could drive down here? There's something I would like to give you."

* * *

The shooting rang was empty which suited him just fine. Anger still raged inside of him and clouded his judgment. He had been reckless on the road to the range and had even turned on his sirens to avoid any traffic jams.

His hands shook in repressed anger. The first two shots missed their target, angering him even more. He cursed under his breath, but kept shooting. With each shot, different images of his girlfriend flooded through his mind.

Bones in a red dress, giving a lecture. The first time he had met her.

The look in her eyes when she stared into his, lovingly.

Her smile which illuminated her features each time.

Bones rejecting him after he'd opened his heart to her.

Bones telling him she was pregnant with his child.

Bones in labor… Him reaching for his daughter as she was born.

Bones taking off in her father's car, Christine's in the backseat, without a word.

As his gun emptied, Booth let the emotion wash over him. For the first time since they had embarked on the wonderful journey of parenthood, he regretted ever starting a family with her.


	10. Chapter 9

**A/N: Sorry for the delay. Been busy preparing my class for back-to-school and actually starting school. lol I'm really hoping to finish this story before September 17th. If it doesn't happen, just a little reminder that this is an ALTERNATE season 8. Which means that if it does end up being finished after Season 8 has started, nothing shown in the real season will pop up in this story (just in case some wise ones decide to review the story, pointing out inaccuracies between both storylines - like it has happened with several of my other AU stories). Anyway, have fun reading and don't forget to leave your review on your way out (anonymously or not!)!**

* * *

The buzzing jolted Booth from his sleep. Heart racing, he turned his head towards the new alarm clock. 7:00 glowed back at him. Flinging his arm over, he turned off the incessant buzzing. Sitting up in his bed, Booth tried to wipe the sleep from his eyes. His night had been short and had done nothing to erase the guilt he was currently feeling.

It had washed over him as soon as he had calmed down. When the last bullet had hit the target, he had instantly felt guilty, guilty to have let the situation get to him. He thought of his daughter who was still growing up somewhere. There was no way he could regret having her in his life, no matter what would happen between her mother and him.

Leaving the shooting range, he'd gone back to his office and had worked late into the evening, searching for more information on Helena Moscovitch's last known whereabouts. He knew the records by heart, yet he couldn't shake the feeling that he was missing something. Were the calls to Washington the key to the mystery? Who did the private numbers belong to? Techs were still working on that.

He'd come back home later than usual, giving up on forgetting what he had found on his partner's computer. Angela had promised to inform him as soon as she had learned where the file came from. He had yet to hear from her.

A quick, steamy shower was all it took to wash away his fatigue. Dressed, with his hair still wet from the shower, he made his way to the kitchen. His uneasiness grew with each step.

He couldn't pinpoint what had caused the uneasiness to settle in. Yet, something seemed out of place. His eyes roamed the downstairs area. Nothing in the entrance seemed to have moved.

Pulling his gun from its socket on his belt, Booth slowly climbed down the remaining steps, his eyes darting left and right. His gun still raised, he checked the front door: locked. The entrance cleared, he moved into the living room. Everything seemed in order there too; so why was he getting the strong feeling someone had been inside his home?

His question was answered in the kitchen. On the table stood his laptop, cover open, its screen blank. Slowly, he made his way to the small device. He hadn't used the computer since the previous week; the lid should have been closed. Looking for something to cover his fingerprints, he spotted a wash cloth on the counter. With his fingers wrapped in the cloth, he turned on the laptop.

He waited anxiously, memories from the previous day zooming through his mind. Would this be a replay of the day before? Would he find a suspicious file on his laptop as well? As the desktop background appeared before him, he could spot nothing out of the ordinary. Not wanting to take any chances – he'd heard of hacked laptops being turned on by distance – he immediately turned it off and took out the battery.

Then, a thought hit him. Fetching his cellphone from his pocket, Booth dialed the number of the security company. A clerk on the other side of the line asked him for his password, which Booth provided. Several minutes later, after listening to the sound of typing, he finally got the answer to his question.

"Your alarm was deactivated between 3:32 am and 4:47 am."

Booth could feel his heart beating in his chest and his throat felt dry. His gut feeling had once again been proven true.

"Are you sure?" he managed to ask.

"Yes I am, sir. Why are you asking?"

"Because I'm not the one who deactivated it."

Silence followed his response.

* * *

He had immediately called his boss and had demanded that a team was sent to his house in the following hour. The Deputy Director had, at first, denied his request, stating it was Washington Police Booth would have to call. After minutes of arguing that he didn't want anyone else but the FBI to search his home, desperately trying to keep Pelant's name from falling from his lips, his boss agreed to send a team. Booth thanked him.

When the techs had arrived, Booth had taken control of the operations. He'd demanded that the house be tested for fingerprints (though he knew they'd only find his own fingerprints), the laptop was sent to the FBI tech-lab for analysis, and Booth ordered others to search his house for any kind of wiring or spying devices they could find. Whoever had been inside his house had been there for at least 90 minutes and Booth was sure the stranger hadn't spent that time surfing the Internet.

"I have to go to work," he had informed one of the technicians. "Call me if you find anything."

As he stood in Angela's office, he wondered how the techs were doing. A new security system was being installed at that moment. He knew it wouldn't prevent anyone as tech-savvy as Pelant to walk into his house uninvited, but it would give him some peace of mind against the regular criminals roaming the neighborhood.

"I heard about the break-in," Angela said as she joined him in her office.

"We can hardly call it a break-in," Booth replied. "There was no sign of forced entry and nothing was stolen."

Angela shuddered.

"It's still creepy to think that someone walked in your house while you were sleeping upstairs."

Booth simply shrugged. He preferred not to think of it. He found solace in the thought that Christine hadn't been in the house when it had occurred.

"Have you had any luck with the file on Bones's computer?"

"I could only figure that the file was created over the weekend. I still don't know if it was created _on_ Brennan's computer or if it was somehow placed there."

Seeing Booth's crestfallen expression, she quickly added:

"I'm sorry I can't tell you more. There's… there's something else you should know too. I had to turn the file over to Flynn."

Booth's eyes widened.

"Why?"

"It was evidence in the investigation," she replied, biting her lower lip. "I had to."

Booth's jaw clenched. For some reason, he hadn't thought of that. He had no doubt Flynn was currently gloating at the situation, only too happy to incriminate Bones even more with each written word. The thought of it made Booth sick. He _needed_ to put a stop to this situation once and for all.

As though reading his mind, Angela went on.

"There is one solution."

Booth stared at her in surprise.

"I have this friend. She works for the FBI in Quantico. She's a computer whiz and a very efficient hacker. You ask, she finds. If you want, I can ask her to hack into Brennan's computer and look at the file. If anyone can tell us when and how the file was created, it's her."

Booth pondered the option. Angela's offer was tempting yet it would, of course, go against FBI regulations since the evidence technically belonged to Flynn's investigation. Were anyone to find out, the three of them could definitely lose their jobs.

"Who is this _friend_?" Booth asked, sensing his professional ethics begin to waver.

"Her name is Penelope. She's… special. You'd like her. She really is the best at what she does. I'm sure she could outwit Pelant if she tried."

Booth chuckled.

"She can't be _that_ good."

"She was on the FBI's most wanted list for hackers."

"I guess it's worth the shot. Thanks, Angela. I really appreciate it."

He had been about to leave when Angela called him back.

"Cam is only trying to do her job. After everything she has seen, she only wants to look at the evidence. I think deep down she knows Brennan couldn't have killed anyone."

Booth let out a long sigh.

"The only evidence we've got is a chapter from a book. For all we know, _you_ could have killed Helena Moscovitch and written a chapter about it."

"Just, don't be mad at Cam. She's only doing her job."

Fists clenched.

"I'm getting very annoyed with hearing that. If everyone here would be doing their jobs, we would have found who has killed Helena and Evan, and Bones would still be here."

With anger boiling once again in his veins, he left the Jeffersonian.

* * *

"Angela told me what happened in her office."

The ride back to his office had calmed him. By the time he had reached his office, Sweets on his heels, his temper had settled down.

"It's none of your business, Sweets," he replied as he continued towards his office, deliberately avoiding the psychologist's eyes.

"It is my business as you are my colleague and my friend."

Booth stopped short of his door and spun around to face him.

"You really want to talk? Fine, we'll talk! I'm just tired of everyone calling my girlfriend a murderer. I'm tired of having to answer to the same questions about how I'm doing and how I'm feeling. I feel _fine_! Can we now _please_ go back to what happened to Helena Moscovitch and find her murderer?"

Turning around, he walked in his office and slammed the door. Sighing, Sweets walked off towards the elevator.

In his office, Booth sat down at his desk and dropped his head in his palms. He'd meant what he'd told Sweets. He was tired of all the questions but, more importantly, he was tired of feeling always so angry at the world. Every day, he felt his temper rising at every irritating thing. He felt angry at the system for being fooled by a professional hacker; he felt angry with the Squints who only saw the logical sides of situations; he felt angry with his partner who had abandoned him in a moment of need; and he felt angry with himself for not having been able to protect his family.

A knock at his office door made him look up. Expecting to see Sweets still standing on the other side of the glass door, he was surprised to see a woman standing with a tall and skinny girl by her side. He motioned to them to come in.

"This lady here wishes to speak with you, Agent Booth," the older woman said.

"Thank you, Elizabeth. I'll take it from here."

When the door had closed behind them, Booth motioned to the girl to take a seat. Shyly, she took a step forward and sat down.

"How can I help you?" he asked.

"Please don't tell my brother," the girl pleaded. "He doesn't know I am here."

Booth said nothing, unsure what to say.

"'My name is Agatha Moscovitch, I think I know who killed my mother."

* * *

The young girl sat in front of them, much like she had done the previous Wednesday. Yet, this time, the pre-teen sitting across from Sweets resembled nothing like the one who had been in his office the previous week. Her demeanour had changed radically: the shy and submissive teenage girl was gone and had been replaced by a confident 12-year-old who stared directly at them.

"Before I say anything, you have to promise me you won't tell Janis I came here. He… um… He doesn't know I'm here. He didn't want me to talk about this."

Sweets nodded. Booth, beside him, simply stared at the lanky pre-teen who resembled her mother at the same age.

"We can't promise he will never know, especially if you will need to testify in court, but we're willing to keep this a secret for as long as we can. What did you want to tell us?"

Agatha took a deep breath.

"My mother had been seeing someone. A man, I mean."

"Okay," Sweets replied slowly, glancing over at Booth. "Do you know who he is?"

The young girl shook her head.

"I don't know his name. Janis and I only saw him a few times when he would pick up my mom. My dad didn't know, see? She would go with him on weekends when Dad worked overtime. It wasn't often. Maybe once or twice a month."

Sweets and Booth exchanged another glance.

"Do you know what she was doing with that man? How long were they gone for?"

"Well…" Agatha said, hesitating. "My mom told us she was doing computer stuff."

"What kind of computer stuff?"

Agatha shrugged.

"I think she mentioned Web pages or something. I think Mom wanted to create a website for her class or something. She taught art in middle school. She wanted to show off her students' creations or something. That's what she told us, anyway."

"Do you think this man could have killed your mother?"

"I don't know, but…"

Again, the same hesitation; what was Agatha keeping from them? Sweets waited patiently, not wanting to pressure her.

"The day my mom disappeared, I saw him."

"You saw him."

It was more a statement than a question. Agatha nodded.

"Outside my school. I sit beside the window in math class and since I seemed to be the only one in class who understood what Mr. Lawson was telling us, I zoned out and looked outside. That's when I saw him. He was just sitting on the bench, as though he was waiting for the bus."

"And what time was that?"

"It was thirty minutes before the bell. He was still there when the bell rang. I got up and went to my locker. I waited for Janis and we headed outside. The man was still there. Janis saw him too. The man didn't see us or, if he did, he didn't recognize us. We sat behind a tree, so we had our backs to him. We waited a few minutes but when we turned around, he was gone."

"Can you describe the man to us?"

Agatha nodded.

"Thing is, I've only seen him a couple of times and it wasn't from up close or very long. I can do my best."

"Your best will do," Booth replied, stepping in the conversation for the first time.

He gestured to Sweets for a pen and a piece of paper. Sweets pulled a small notebook from his pocket and handed Booth a pen.

"He's tall… But I don't know how tall. Taller than Janis and me, I think. He has blonde hair. Short. I don't know the color of his eyes though."

"Is he young or old?"

"Everyone looks old to me, Dr. Sweets. I'm 12."

Sweets chuckled at the pre-teen's comment.

"Okay, let me rephrase that. Is he old like a grandfather would or old like your father?"

Agatha seemed to ponder both choices.

"I'd say more like my dad. I don't know anything else."

"What type of clothing was he wearing? Do you remember?" Booth asked, looking up from the notebook.

Agatha shrugged.

"I'm not sure. I think he was wearing jeans and a green shirt, but I don't remember."

"It's okay, Agatha. You've done the best you can. Is there anything else you can tell us about this man?"

This time, the girl shook her head.

"Why do you think this man killed your mother?"

The girl shrugged.

"I don't know. Maybe by the way he was just sitting outside our school or by the way he simply disappeared before my mom arrived. I'm sorry I don't anything more. I hope I haven't wasted your time."

Sweets thanked her and offered to drive her to the bus station. Booth followed them outside and headed towards his office unaware of the pair of eyes following them at a distance.

* * *

**I have to apologize for the crossover. It was too tempting, especially since I was in a "Criminal Minds" mood when I first wrote that chapter! :P**


	11. Chapter 10

**A/N: Just a reminder that this was written BEFORE season 8 aired. So anything we have learned during the past season will not be included. It is my version of how things should have happened during the time jump between season 7 and season 8!**

* * *

The news hit him like a slap in the face.

He'd received the call thinking there would be something new in the Helena Moscovitch. He hadn't expected to hear inform him that Agatha's body had been found in the bathroom of a metro station. Booth leaned against the back of his chair and sighed. This case was getting more and more confusing. First a mother and now a daughter had been killed and they had no leads. Letting out a long sigh, Booth got to his feet and grabbed his jacket. Cam was already waiting for him at the crime scene.

* * *

For the second time in a week, Niklavs and Janis sat in front of them. The pair of them looked confused and Booth wondered exactly how he was supposed to inform them that Agatha had been murdered. The strangulation marks were fairly obvious, even an untrained eye would have recognized them.

"Why are we here, Agent Booth? Is this about Agatha? She hasn't come home last night and I was worried. Did something happen to her?"

Booth glanced over at Sweets and sighed. Turning back to Niklavs, he nodded.

"We found her body in a metro station not too far from the Bureau."

"What?"

Niklavs looked at them, despair evident in his eyes.

"No, it can't be! Are you sure that it was my Agatha?"

Sweets nodded.

"We're positive. We did the ID ourselves."

"We will need you to identify her at the morgue, but yes, it was her."

Niklavs roughly rubbed his face with both his hands. Booth and Sweets exchanged an uncomfortable look. Janis, sitting beside his father, still hadn't said anything. He was looking past them, at something invisible on the wall.

"What was she even doing in Washington?" Niklavs asked, looking up at them. "She told me she was going to her friend's house."

"She came to us with new information," Sweets replied, his eyes turning to Janis. "Information that your son didn't want us to have."

Niklavs turned to his son.

"Is this true, Janis?"

The young boy still looked at the wall, his expression neutral.

"Janis, answer me! Is this true? Did you keep important information from the FBI?"

Janis turned to his father and nodded slowly.

"Es negribēju, lai ievainots jums."

"Speak English, Janis! This is the FBI, they _need_ to know everything."

Janis let out a sigh of frustration. If only Agatha had kept her mouth shut, she would still be alive today. For Janis was convinced that it was the same person: the man that her mother was meeting had somehow learned that Agatha had spoken and had killed her too. If only he knew who he was, he could tell them.

"I said I didn't want to hurt you."

"Why would you hurt me?"

Silence followed his question. Growing uncomfortable, heart racing inside his chest, Niklavs looked from his son to the FBI agents.

"What did Agatha tell you?"

"It seems that your wife was seeing a man," Sweets replied.

Seeing the shocked and hurt expression on the Latvian man's face, Sweets immediately went on.

"Agatha has assured me that Helena wasn't having an affair. It would seem that the man was showing her how to build Web pages. Is that what it is, Janis?"

The young teenager nodded.

"It's true, Father. That is what she was doing. Every other weekend, when you had to work, she would come to Washington to meet this man. Sometimes, she would take a bus. Most of the time, the man would come to our house to pick her up and would drive her back in the late afternoon, just before she came home."

"Do you know the name of the man?"

Janis shook his head. Fear still held a firm grip on his stomach but being able to talk about it relieved a burden he had been carrying since his mother's death. It dawned on him that, if they had spoken sooner, if he hadn't tried to protect his father, Agatha might still have been alive.

"She never told us. We saw the man one day when he came to pick her up and we asked her who he was. She only told us that he was teaching her computer stuff, like how to build Web pages, and not to worry, she wasn't planning on leaving Father for him. After that, she refused to talk about it."

"Thank you for your honesty, Janis," Sweets told the young boy.

Niklavs sat dumbfounded beside his son. He couldn't understand why his wife hadn't told him about her computer lessons, why she had felt the need to keep it a secret. Sure, he hadn't always been supportive of her interests. Learning how build Web pages would have been a project he could have been on board with.

"Was it that man who killed Agatha?" Niklavs asked, after a few minutes of silence.

"We have no way of knowing at the moment," Booth replied.

"I don't want to die, Agent Booth!"

The three men turned to the teenage boy.

"What makes you think you're going to die?" Booth asked, surprised by the boy's outburst.

"There's something else I didn't tell you."

"I'm listening."

It was obvious by Janis's posture that he was stressed.

"The last time Mother came home, she seemed… nervous."

"Nervous?" Booth asked, his interest heightened.

"Not nervous, but… I don't know the right word. She came home and there was something different about her. Something in her eyes that seemed different. Agatha was playing video games in the basement, but I was in the kitchen. She didn't see me. When I spoke to her, she jumped. She told me never to sneak up on her like that or I would be grounded. Then she apologized and said that she'd had a long day."

"It is possible that she did in fact have a long day, Janis. What makes you think otherwise?" Sweets asked.

"The man had picked her up that morning. She came back by bus. It was unusual. She spent the rest of the evening in her bedroom, reading. She told us to eat whatever we wanted for dinner. Father came home at his usual time, around 6 pm. She didn't even come greet him."

Niklavs suddenly seemed to remember that day. He spoke up.

"It's true. I remember now. I went to our room but the door was locked. I knocked. Helena said that she wasn't feeling well and that she needed to rest. I slept on the couch that night. She only unlocked the door in the morning. She looked like she hadn't slept at all. It was a Monday and she took a day off. And the next day. She went back to work on the Wednesday. After that, she seemed fine."

"And when was that exactly?"

Janis and Niklavs pondered the question for a moment.

"About two weeks before she disappeared," Janis replied. "The next time she was supposed to see the man was the weekend she disappeared."

"Agatha told us the man had been standing in front of your school."

Janis nodded. Booth and Sweets exchanged a glance.

"Now do you see why I asked you if I was going to die too? We see the man and my mother disappears. Agatha comes here to talk to you about that man, she's found dead."

Booth nodded. Some of his questions had been answered, leaving only new ones in their wake. One thing was sure, if Janis's logic was correct, father and son were in danger.

"I'll arrange a safe house for the two of you. For now, just stay here. I'll come back and see you when things have been arranged. Is there anything you would like to drink or eat while you wait?"

Both of them declined. Booth and Sweets got to their feet. Outside the interrogation room, they paused.

"What do you really think?" Sweets whispered.

"I think Helena saw or heard something at that man's house that she wasn't to know and I think that's what got her killed."

"Maybe the killer somehow learned about Agatha's visit, maybe he thought she knew something and killed her too."

"No clue. But I intend to find out."

* * *

Sitting on her couch, Angela's thoughts turned once more to her friend. She wondered how she was doing, how Christine was doing, and where they were. How Brennan could be escaping the law for so long seemed unconceivable. She was well-known throughout the country. She knew she had probably changed her appearance and her name. Max had the connections, after all.

Then her thoughts turned to the file found on her computer. She had a hard time believing that Brennan had truly written it, yet the accuracy of the information was uncanny. Finn and Wendell had determined that the murder weapon had in fact been the sword from an exhibit at the museum. Only a few people had access to it, including Brennan.

The sound of her cellphone startled her. Getting to her feet, she walked over to her desk and grabbed her phone. She was surprised to find Penelope's face staring back at her.

"Already?" she said as a greeting.

She heard her friend chuckle on her side of the line.

"What can I say, I'm the best!"

"I have to agree! What have you got?"

"I think I found something that will interest you. The file was in fact transferred to Dr. Brennan's computer. Whoever put it there used a multitude of servers across the world to access it so unfortunately I cannot tell you which computer it came from. I can tell you, however, that it was written by a man."

"Excuse me?" Angela asked, wondering if she had heard correctly.

"You see, after your call, I decided to pull the file from Dr. Brennan's computer and I showed it to a colleague of mine here at the BAU. Based on the details provided in the chapter and on the nature of the crime, he was able to determine the gender of the author. To confirm, we took a sample of Brennan's new book on her computer and the styles completely differ."

"Wow!" Angela replied, a large smile stretching on her lips. "Thank you, Penelope! You're great!"

"No problem, my dear. If you ever want to come up to Virginia and speak to him yourself, you're very welcome."

"Umm, yeah, maybe. Let me talk it over with Agent Booth first. I'll call you back."

"No problem."

When Angela hung up, she sat down at her desk. For the first time in months, they had a breakthrough. They could at least prove that Brennan hadn't murdered Helena Moscovitch as the chapter would have leaded someone to believe. She couldn't wait to tell Booth.

* * *

"I'm sorry to just barge in like that."

Booth stepped aside to let his former girlfriend inside. It felt weird to see her in this setting, the house that he shared with his partner, especially since he had told Hannah, back then, that there was nothing between Bones and him. So much had changed in that year, things he hadn't expected.

"Do you want something to drink?" Booth asked as he led the way to the kitchen.

"No thank you, I can't stay long. Nice place!"

"Thanks. Bones had a decorator the first week we moved in. She wanted everything to be perfect. Have you found anything on Flynn?"

The two of them sat down on opposite couches.

"Not much. He's pretty clean or he knows how to keep his files clean. I'm still digging though. Your guy is normally right; I won't stop until I find something."

A thought instantly crossed Booth's mind.

"Check if he has any interests in computers."

"Computers?"

Booth nodded. He wasn't sure exactly where the thought had come from. Somewhere in his subconscious, something was taking shape. Flynn did have a similar appearance to the man Agatha had described and he did seem to know more than he should have about Helena's murder. He had bumped into him at the elevator, soon after Angela's call informing her of what her friend had learned about the file on Bones's computer. He had apologized for the little girl's death and asked if there was anything he could be of assistance for. Booth hadn't told anyone about Agatha's body but it was possible that Flynn had heard about it through the grapevines. Things had a way of not staying secret at the Bureau.

"Just try to find out if he has any subscriptions to computer magazines or even if he owns one at home."

"Okay, sure. Anything else?"

Booth shook his head.

"I will get right on it. But before I leave, there's something I want to give you. It's the actual reason why I came by tonight."

Booth frowned and watched as she rummaged through her purse. He became even more confused when Hannah handed what seemed to be a picture. He took it gently from her hands and flipped the white paper over. Christine's face beamed at him. He could tell the picture was recent. She hadn't been so big the last time he'd seen her.

"Where did you get this?" he asked, his heart racing inside his chest.

"She wants you to know that they are safe. This was taken three days ago."

Hannah got to her feet.

"Where are they?" Booth demanded.

"I can't tell you that. All you need to know for now is that they are both safe and they are both happy."

Booth sighed. He knew Hannah was right. If she told him, it would make both of them an accomplice. Yet, it didn't make sense that she would know where his girlfriend was and he didn't.

"How did you find them?"

"Coincidence."

Booth nodded.

"I'll let you know if I find anything on Flynn. I'll let myself out."

After his ex-girlfriend has closed the door behind her, Booth let himself sink into the couch, his daughter's picture clutched in his hands. Her bright blue eyes reminded him of Bones. For a long moment, he let himself miss them. The house was empty without them. His life was empty without them. It didn't matter if Bones had somehow betrayed him by running away without him. He knew why she had needed to do it. Now, things were much clearer. He'd always known, but now he was sure. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with her and he would do everything in his power to make sure it would happen that way.


End file.
